


The One with the Snowstorm

by Joysbell



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25158382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joysbell/pseuds/Joysbell
Summary: Cassian takes shelter with Nesta during a snowstorm.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	1. Part I

My boots crunched in the snow and I sank with every step I took. The dense white burden was at least two feet high, and it came up to my knees. Illyrian leathers kept me warm, although they were loose, and hung from my body in an unpleasant, unattractive way—I did not care. I hated them. But in any other clothing, I would freeze.

The cold was like nothing I had experienced before. Every breath I took hurt my lungs. Any exposed skin burned. My nose felt like it was going to freeze and shatter off.

Everything was white. The trees, the village in the distance, my cabin. Yes, _my_ cabin I reminded myself. It was covered in snow before me. It was rickety—in desperate need of repairs. Small, with only a tiny kitchenette, living room, and hearth, one bedroom, one bath. A cabin meant for an Illyrian bachelor, now occupied by the village witch, the outsider, that Made fae who no one would touch, literally.

I had _tried_.

What I wanted was to be touched. Hard, soft, fast, slow. It did not matter. The Illyrians were beautiful, muscled, with calloused hands. And I wanted one. I _hoped_ it would be rough. But nothing. No one would come near me.

I had tried to get liquor as well. And failed. I had also tried to gamble with some jewels I still had, but no one would play. It seemed I had a cautionary sign on my back.

Now, after months of living here, I kept to myself. When I went to the village it was a brief visit, and only because I desperately needed something. I did not bother with anyone or anything and they did not bother with me. I was a ghost.

A ghost that lived in a little run-down cabin on the hill.

When I first came to the mountains, Cassian had made me an offer to stay at his residence. A place I had never seen because I had chosen the other option instead—an abandoned cabin. There had not been time to build me a proper home, Cassian had said, and had apologized. I had sneered.

_I do not want you to build me a house._

Instead, he insisted on slowly repairing this place. The first thing he did was install locks on my door. I let him. But I did not talk to him. I knew it was his job to check on me—Feyre had insisted. But the silence was all that met him when he came.

For three months now he had come, three times a week, on schedule. Cassian brought things from my sisters, cheese, bread, flowers, books… I threw away everything aside from the books. I needed them. I did not want to eat. I did not want to decorate. But the books were an escape from all of this, and they allowed me to travel, to be someone else, to live a different life—a life I did not want to throw away.

Cassian was coming today. So, I stopped drifting away in the snow outside and picked up a few pieces of firewood in my arms. They were heavy and I was weak. All I could carry was three logs, but that would be enough for the hearth. I only lit the fire when he came, because otherwise, the bat would throw a fit.

I slowly waded through the snow to my front door. I had left it ajar and the cold had crept inside. The hearth waited for me.

Once I had the fire started, I plopped myself on the couch. Barely a couch, at that. It was worn, blue, and mine. I had insisted it be brought to this place from my old apartment. It had the perfect slump, still smelled like turned wine, and made Cassian angrier than a hellhound. He refused to sit on it. Which pleased me.

I could feel him coming suddenly. He was flying fast, moving more aggressively than usual. The wind howled outside, but it was as if I could hear him, see him, flying straight down to the snow, landing as hard as a mallet to stone.

I grabbed a book and opened it, pretending I had been reading and put on the appearance that I did not want to be disturbed.

“Hello Nesta,” Cassian said, as he stepped through the door I had not locked. He gently tossed a bag on the table by the door. It thumped, obviously full of whatever he had brought. I knew he did not expect me to respond.

Not a word had been spoken from my lips to him since I had come here. I told myself today would be no different. I might look, I might glare, or smirk, or sneer, otherwise, I was mute.

Cassian never stopped talking when he came. If I were going to be silent, he would refuse to shut up.

“The bag has food, clothes, books—from Elain,” he said, rather shortly. It was always things from Elain. “She misses you—wishes you would allow a visit,” he pulled a chair back from the table and sat down.

His whole body was tense. I could see his muscles twitch beneath his leathers. His black hair was pulled tighter than it usually was, in a half bun wrapped in red thread, the rest of the tendrils hanging down against his neck. His eyes bore into me. Cassian smirked, “Sadly, I told Elain hell would probably freeze over before you allowed anyone to come here.”

I silently agreed and kept my nose in my book.

A couple of minutes passed where he said nothing. Strange, unlike him to be so quiet. Slowly I looked up from my book and made a passing glance. His eyes met mine and I quickly returned to my cover of paper and words.

“There’s a storm coming. A bad storm. I am worried about you being alone here during it. I will not be able to fly—”

Instantly, I turned and gave him a dark look of steel. I would be fine. _Leave me alone_ , I said with a clench of my teeth.

Cassian crossed his arms, challenging my expression. Still tense, still tired, but ready to fight me.

_You will not stay here._

_Yes, I will. It is my job to protect you, and I will not disobey my High Lord and High Lady._

Was this conversation really happening? This was not the first time I felt as if we talked in our minds. Not the first time I looked at Cassian and knew what he was thinking, what he was saying to me, and only me. It made me shirk back into my couch, clutch my book harder, and debate whether to throw it at him—

“Nesta, I am sorry to invade your sanctuary. But I will be staying. You may take the couch. I will sleep in your bed,” he finished and started laughing. His shoulders seemed to sigh, relax.

He had a bad day. Now he was at ends with having to stay with me. Then I realized why the bag he had thrown on the table was so heavy. His things were inside.

_When is this storm?_ I slammed my book shut and got up from my couch. 

“The storm is coming tonight,” Cassian said, and I wondered if it was an answer or a coincidence. “I’ll be out of your hair before you know it. But in the meantime, I brought some knitting to do…”

I turned from him and rolled my eyes. If he was not testing me, he was joking, the stupidest things came out of his mouth—

“Perhaps I will knit you a blanket to keep you warm, your skin and bones. I am surprised you have not died from the cold yet; it is notorious here. With no fat on you, you hardly stand a chance. If you get caught outside in a whitewash, and cannot find your way back, you will be dead in an hour.”

From where he still sat at the table, he looked me over without shame, slowly starting at my feet and working his way up to my face. It was primal.

The air between us always changed so quickly.

A storm was coming, and Cassian was going to ride it out with me.

I looked back at him with menace. The arrogance. To think I could not survive some snow. I had survived the cauldron, I had clawed my way out and took a chunk of it with me, but snow—I shook my head, and went for his bag. I picked it up and shoved it at him. A demand that he leaves.

Cassian sighed, “If you really want me to leave, I will. But” he pressed, “I might get caught in the storm on my way home. And if something happens to me, can you live with yourself?”

_Absolutely_ , I wanted to yell at him, and at that cocky grin that replaced the lament on his face.

Yet I found myself surrender. I found myself back at a place I had not allowed myself to go in a long time. A place where I shielded a broken warrior’s body, sacrificing myself, ready to go—and then I snapped back, and found Cassian staring at me with concern.

_Do not_ , I thought. _Do not look at me like that._

Cassian stood a little taller, much taller than I, and changed his expression. He was waiting for an answer. He really was giving me a choice—a horrible one, but a choice.

_Stay_ , I relented. _Stay here. But stay away from me._

Cassian smiled. “I’m going to make dinner.”

I wanted to throttle him. I wanted to scream because he irritated me. With that smile, that smirk, that cocky, arrogant, toned body—

Cassian’s smile grew and he turned, heading for the kitchen. I swore there was extra swagger as he moved his ass. _Fucking bastard._

For a moment I prayed the storm took us both.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian takes shelter with Nesta during a snowstorm.

I remember when I lost my mind. I had thrown it into the Sidra and there it remained.

The rage that had filled me at the dismissal Nesta had bestowed. The refusal of my gift. I had followed her home, nostrils flaring like a bull about to charge. I could not breathe, I could not think, my only instinct was to be near her. It did not matter that she fled from me. The feeling—a steel chain—plagued me with every link as I hovered above her ramshackle apartment. It pulled me, practically wrestled me to the ground.

From a rooftop I watched as she undid four locks, her slender fingers working, touching cold metal. I could hear her every breath, feel the contact she made, the push of her door—and then she was inside. Gone.

Raw power had burst from the siphons on my hands, beams of red shooting into the air, straight up like tunnels to heaven. My whole body shook, I convulsed in the sky. It took everything I had to stay standing on the roof.

That was the moment I knew. Nesta was my mate.

When the uncontrollable event subsided, I wondered how much time had passed. What was probably only a minute had felt like hours.

I could not leave until I saw faelight. Not until I knew she was cloistered and safe in that horrible dwelling.

\+ + +

Cassian was a good cook. After all, he had a lot of practice. Living on his own, camping with Illyrian armies, drunken nights, and hangovers in the morning…

Mostly he made stew. Whatever you had on hand could go in, and it always tasted good. It always filled you up.

Food was fuel. An army, a warrior, was nothing without food. Food won wars.

But Nesta would not eat. And that was a war Cassian was currently losing.

If he had to guess, maybe she reluctantly ate a few pieces of bread and butter a day to keep her going. That was the only food missing when he visited. Whatever else he brought went to the waste bin. Nesta had tried to hide that uneaten food under other things as if he would not notice.

From the cabinet, Cassian grabbed potatoes and vegetables. Hearty ingredients he loosely chopped up with an Illyrian blade that had been strapped against his thigh. While he worked, he stole glances at Nesta who still read, curled up on that disgusting couch.

She was not really reading, he knew. Nesta used all her senses to monitor him as a hawk would to a mouse it saw in a valley down below. Cassian was prey.

Once upon a time, before the war, Nesta had been afraid of the warrior. He had scented that fear on her as he had pushed her against a mantle, his tongue caressing her neck. Now she was his equal, possessing power he could not begin to imagine.

When Cassian’s stew was set to boil, he leaned back against the counter. Over the last few months, he had gotten used to her silent treatment, but he missed her voice. The cool sharpness with which she spoke, and that sarcasm that made him feel feral.

Cassian still thought about her in ways that made him lose himself, even though she was a slip of a woman now. Sometimes he felt ashamed because he knew she was depressed, but that did not always kill his lust. When he daydreamed about her body, Cassian remembered what she had once been, and hoped she would be again. He had sought release too many times to count, as he pictured her, writhing under him, her body on display while she moaned his name.

But more than anything, he missed the woman he barely had the chance to get to compassionately know. Now there was a time like he had promised. And part of him felt like he was completely failing her. The other part of him knew Nesta did not need or want a hero.

What could he do? Make her soup. Whether out this storm. And wait.

“The stew will be ready soon,” Cassian said, pushing off the counter to make his way toward the fire. “I know you can hardly wait.”

Nesta only looked up at him to roll her eyes. He chuckled, sitting beside the hearth. Pushing the coals with the poker, he asked, “Do you like rabbits? It has always bothered me—eating something so cute—but there are so many of them around camp… Nothing stops them from fucking. Not the cold, or the snow, or the fear of larger predators.”

Nesta slowly rose from her book to glare at Cassian.

There she is.

He grinned at his ability to irk her. To make her fingers twitch in annoyance. Keep talking, teasing her, testing her, make her feel something…

“High fae are always comparing themselves to animals. Lions, wolves, bats… But if you ask me”— she didn’t—“I would definitely say fae are most like rabbits.” Watching, he waited for her to respond.

Nesta snapped her book shut. And? She raised an eyebrow.

“Would you like bread with dinner?” He asked, grinning.

In an instant, she had thrown her book directly at his face, but he had put his hands out to grab it. Nesta would have to be quicker than that. He whistled, slowly, before setting the book back down beside him. Now she was not going to get it back. “Careful, now, sweetheart,” he said deeply. Inside, Cassian could hardly contain the excitement at sensing that fire, her flames slowly rising to lick him.

Nesta simply pushed herself off the couch and went to stand above him, hand outstretched. The nerve to demand her book back.

Tsk tsk.

“As far as I’m concerned, this was a gift,” he said. “How polite. My thanks.” Cassian sketched a bow with the upper part of his body, then patted a spot next to where he sat. “But we can read it together if you would like.”

Her look said she would rather walk out into the snow and stay there.

“That’s fine. I need to set the table, anyway.” He tucked the book away in his bag, completely aware he had taken away her crutch, hoping she would lean on him instead.

While Cassian set the table Nesta used the restroom, taking her time. When she returned, he already had dinner on the table, complete with bread. The gentlemanly thing to do would have been to wait for her to sit and push in her chair, but he did not want to risk his balls tonight.

Leaning forward, Cassian ripped a piece of bread for himself as Nesta took a seat. The bread was fresh, made today in camp, the aroma of it being pulled apart was practically orgasmic. He swore he would never get tired of this simple staple.

Nesta touched nothing, initially, but Cassian did not push. Not yet, at least… There was something he had wanted to discuss anyway. Across the table, Nesta crossed her arms and looked like she was about to brace herself for some lewd joke. But then a piece of golden-brown hair fell out of the crown atop her head, and she quickly pinned it back into place. For a moment he found himself staring.

After a mouthful, Cassian took a deep breath. “Nesta,” he said, quieter than usual, “I wanted to talk to you about coming here, to Illyria…” She was not talking, so she would not be interrupting. “I’m sorry,” he said, to start, “I’m really sorry.” The spark of shock in her eyes hit him. “Feyre was wrong, Rhys was wrong,” he said, even more softly, as if speaking this was treason against his High Lord and High Lady. “They should not have asked you to leave Velaris—not that I do not want you here, I am happy to have you here—but it should have been your choice. I did not tell you at the outset, but I had no part in it. The decision. Forcing you… People make mistakes, they made a mistake,” and perhaps he was making excuses for his friends, when he should have been supporting the woman before him. “And I did too.”

Silver lined Nesta’s eyes. Her body still, frozen.

“I did agree to watch you, though,” he admitted, “I thought you would prefer me to Mor or Az.” This was harder than he thought, a lot harder than he thought… Say something Nesta, say something…

Cassian had been waiting to say this since the day Rhys and Feyre had told him of their plans. Plans they had purposefully left him out of until they had needed him, needed him to go pick her up and deposit her at the river estate. But Cassian had always been loyal to his court, he prided himself on his fidelity. Choosing between his closest friends and Nesta was a nightmare but realizing he had made the wrong choice was nothing short of a hellish reality.

The woman across the table did nothing, said nothing. She was a statue that only stared at him. Was the pain so blatant on his face? Her tears welled, but Nesta refused to release them.

Say something, Nes, he pleaded. There was a chance she could hear him, after all.

“I do,” she said, her voice cracking as if she had not had water in a week.

“What?” Cassian practically jumped out of his seat and braced his hands on either side of him. Nesta spoke. For the first time in months.

“I do. Prefer you—to Morrigan and Azriel,” she added, in case he was confused.

“Oh.” Cassian sat for a few seconds, and then let out a bellow. Nesta could have said she hated his face; it did not matter. Her voice, her voice…

Shockingly, Cassian was speechless, but he had no trouble smiling. The only thing that bothered him was the lingering wetness brimming Nesta’s eyes.

Cassian picked up his fork to take a bite as the snow fell heavily outside, hoping maybe Nesta would do the same.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian takes shelter with Nesta during a snowstorm.

Cassian had apologized to her. He had whispered words against his High Lord and Feyre. Nesta clearly saw the sincerity in his eyes, and it shook her. Enough so that she had spoken, emerging from her self-imposed cocoon of silence.

For a moment Nesta was not empty. Sorrow and resentment swirled together inside her and silver-lined her eyes. Feeling something for the first time in weeks was overwhelming, but Nesta did not want to show Cassian any feeble emotions. She wanted to remain unyielding; yet, his confession was touching her, as if a light hand caressed her arm only to soothe.

He was supporting her. Something very few people had ever done. So Nesta decided to continue their conversation. An exploration of sorts, to see where it would go. And in doing so she would control and forget the feelings that had arisen.

“Where exactly do you plan to sleep tonight?” Nesta asked, intensely crossing her arms.

Cassian had finished eating. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Where do you want me to sleep, sweetheart?”

Nesta titled her head. “Outside. I’m sure there is a cave you could find.”

“A cave? What do you think I am—?”

“A bat. A lowborn bat. Go hang somewhere.” Oh, that would make his blood boil.

Cassian immediately ignited as he bucked and leaned forward, splaying both hands down flat on the table. “You ‘wanna play, Nesta? You are so saucy all of the sudden. I suppose you have been banking insults for me all these months.”

“I suppose you will be sleeping on the couch,” she said, ignoring his taunt.

“Not on that rancid thing. I will sleep on the floor next to the fire. The bearskin rug will do.” Cassian stood and picked up his plate, and then Nesta’s. Usually, the cook did not clean up the dishes, but he suspected Nesta was not going to help him. And he was right. Nesta moved back to her couch as he washed the remnants of his rabbit stew.

“What is wrong with my couch?” She asked, even though Nesta knew exactly why he did not like it.

“You know it smells of wine and males and filth. Get a new one,” Cassian grouched. The alcohol was one thing, but the men—that bothered him more than anything. To think about how many males Nesta had been with—he did not dare ask, and he did not want to know the answer.

“And where am I supposed to get a couch here, in the mountains?”

“I will get you whatever you want,” Cassian said simply, quietly.

Nesta said nothing, and she knew he meant it. He would get her anything.

Looking down beside her she spied a brown stain on the piece of furniture. Whatever it was did make her nose crinkle, a little. Maybe it was time to get rid of the thing. But accepting his offer seemed too… intimate. Cassian had never given her anything. Even when he had tried to give her a present Nesta had refused flat out.

But tonight, he had made her stew—which she had not eaten. Nesta’s stomach suddenly betrayed her and Cassian glanced in her direction, a pair of knowing eyes bore into her. The grumble was loud in the small cabin, with no noise aside from the fire. She turned away from him and returned to staring at the stain on her couch.

Nesta’s mind began to wander, and she compared herself to the general in her kitchen. His body was healthy and hers was practically rotting. Remembering how he moved on the battlefield, twisting, and striking, flying to kill, landing as the ground quaked beneath him… He still looked like a remnant of the Gods themselves. And he knew it, the bastard.

What did Cassian see when he looked at her now? More importantly, did she care?

Why was she even thinking about Cassian’s body right now? Why was she thinking about her own?

What Nesta still had was wit, and that was all she needed. Yes, wit and an unknown power she was terrified to unleash. Her body could remain a slip.

Then Nesta noticed Cassian was still staring at her and she felt exposed like she was completely naked and displayed before him. She sensed that Cassian could read her every thought, and she wanted to run to the bedroom and slam the door shut. She wanted to lock him and that look he gave her out.

Nesta’s head felt like a ball of glass, and a finger was gently tapping, trying to get in, somehow… Stop. She wanted it to stop.

“What are you doing?” Nesta asked him, viciously.

“I’m not doing anything,” Cassian said.

“Then what are you thinking?” Nesta asked the words escaped her mouth so quickly before she could process the private question she had asked. Instantly she felt the regret swell within her.

To his credit, Cassian did not falter. “I am thinking about how your stomach just growled. I am also thinking about how I need to go out into the snow to get more firewood because you did not bring in enough. And lastly, I am thinking about how I would like to sleep naked on that bearskin rug tonight, but I should not because I would probably wake up without my balls if you caught me.” A smirk and he was moving toward the door. “I’ll be back. I’m getting more firewood.”

And then Cassian was gone into the snowstorm, a black form moving into a white world.

# # #

The snow pounded against his wings. There was hale, and every piece that hit him felt like a little knife. He silently cursed Nesta for not getting enough firewood. Who only brought in a couple of logs for the night? A woman who was not going to keep the fire going, that’s who… How did she survive in this weather? Nesta must curl up under five blankets to stay even remotely warm.

Cassian could imagine her shivering, wasting away under layers of quilts. Broken sleep all day and night. It made him sick with guilt, that he had not done anything yet. It was battle—to give Nesta the space to sort things out—or to persuade her to start taking care of herself? Cassian did not know what was right. And he was not going to listen to his friends this time. No, when it came to Nesta, Cassian decided he needed to figure things out for himself.

Hearing her voice gave him hope. She was now speaking to him. Even though her tongue was wicked—he loved it. If he would listen to his instincts, he would grab her, kiss her wildly, bow before her, and proclaim that he would worship, bed her, and be the last man that ever touched her.

The snow brought him back to reality quickly. Practically burying him as he walked to the back of the cabin. He would have to blow a path through with his siphons—Nesta had not shoveled, and there would be no mobility here soon. The door would become barricaded, and that was one of the most dangerous things Cassian could think of. So, as he walked, he blasted snow in front of him, making his way toward the firewood.

He grabbed as many logs as he could carry, and weaved his way back threw the paths he had made. Upon entering the cabin, he shook—Nesta probably thought he was a dog—to get all the snow off him and his wings.

“Do you have a towel?” He asked, “I’m kind of wet.” The snow was melting, and now he was a sopping mess. Puddles on the floor surrounded him.

Nesta seemed to be annoyed as if he could have gone out in the snowstorm without getting wrecked by it. But she went to get him a towel, anyway and threw it at him as she came close.

“Thanks,” he muttered, catching the cloth. As he dried his hair, Cassian began to think about why Nesta questioned his thoughts.

Nesta turned away.

“Why did you ask me what I was thinking?” Cassian asked.

“Because you were staring at me,” she spat.

“Is looking at you a crime? If it is, blindfold me,” he winked.

He watched the slender woman roll her eyes. For a moment Cassian wondered if she would rather pluck his eyes out.

“What are you thinking? It’s only fair.”

“I am thinking if I find you naked on that rug tomorrow you will lose more than your balls.”

Cassian threw back his head in laughter. “At least we are on the same page, then. I am going to change out of these clothes,” he said, before grabbing some fresh things to wear from the leather bag he had brought. “Try not to peek.”

“Shut the door behind you,” Nesta snapped.

“Of course, sweetheart.”


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian takes shelter with Nesta during a snowstorm.

Cassian shut the door behind him as he entered the bedroom, per Nesta’s request. He quickly pulled off his wet clothing and left it on the floor. Naked, he took a moment to wander around the bedroom and snoop.

Nesta kept her bedroom neat now, which was a stark difference from the apartment she had in Velaris. The bed was made, the floor was clear, and her books were stacked nicely, spines facing him, on a dresser. Cassian gently stroked a hand along the books, as if touching them were a direct connection to the young fae in the other room. There were probably fifty books, and some of the titles…

Nesta’s preferred genre was no secret to him. He knew she read romance and smut. It made his cock grow and twitch. Cassian decided he should probably put some clothes on now. But before he did, he stroked himself and thought of how he wanted to show Nesta she could live the words in her books. He would do anything she wanted, anything…

A noise from the other room brought him back; a bump, like Nesta had dropped something. With a sigh, Cassian pulled on his pants, and then a shirt. They were comfortable clothes, not meant to impress, easy to sleep in because he knew his chances of curling up naked next to Nesta were nil.

Too bad, because the chance of him staying here for a few days was likely, not that he was planning on telling Nesta how long the storm was supposed to last. He would let her figure that out for herself. If Cassian said he might be staying for a while she would rip him apart.

Before he went back into the lion’s den, Cassian sat back on the bed and laid down, staring up at the ceiling. It was strange, to be in Nesta’s room and not smell other men. Everything smelled like her, and Cassian found himself a little lightheaded. He breathed her in like he had wanted to do against her neck again if only she would let him have a touch. The scent of her on the bed was intoxicating, and Cassian suddenly realized he was torturing himself.

Should he try to advance? Was that a good strategy? Maybe Nesta would not be able to resist him. If he brushed a hand against her face and kissed her softly would she honestly push him away? She had protected him with her own life, and not because they were friends…they were never going to be just friends. Enemies or lovers. It was that simple.

Cassian sat up, and ran his hands through his hair, realizing he should fix the bed. He smoothed the covers out, so it looked pristine again. Then he took one last look at her books and imagined a woman lying in his lap, reading one of them, ready to fall asleep, as he lazily stroked her hair. Later, when she was fast asleep, he would carry her to bed, kiss her forehead, and pull the blankets up over her. He would thank the Gods for the life he had, and the woman beside him, despite all the horrible things he had done.

When he was alone, he could dream like that, but once he opened that door everything changed.

“What took you so long?” Nesta asked when he emerged.

He smiled, “I was riffling through your unmentionables.”

“You bastard—” Nesta snapped, moving toward him with wrath.

Cassian held up his hands, “Relax, I’m kidding. Do you really think I would do that?”

Nesta stopped in front of him. Her voice was low. “I would not put it past you.”

Cassian approached her and their height difference became apparent, as he stood only a few inches away from her. He was at least half a foot taller, and could easily pull her close. But she looked up at him without hesitation. “The only time I’ll look at your underwear, sweetheart, is when it’s on you.”

The flush rose up Nesta’s cheeks. If she wanted to show no attraction her body betrayed her. With a sharp, perfect stillness, Nesta replied, “Well then the joke is on you because I’m not wearing any.”

Cassian’s knees wobbled as Nesta took a step back and left him there, speechless.


End file.
